


Turning I

by padawanhilary, Telesilla



Series: Turning [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Transformation, Community: wtf27, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-25
Updated: 2006-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:03:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean, a mercenary with a secret past, meets Orlando di Fiori, a young man with an even bigger secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning I

Orlando stumbles out of the wood into the clearing. He is well and truly lost, now, damn the change, and his clothes are in tatters. He clutches the ragged tunic around his shoulders, calling out as he nears the fire.

"Please." His voice sounds strange even to him, as it always seems afterward. "I -- if I might rest a while..." There is a man there, and Orlando smells food, though it holds no appeal for him; his belly is full, which always appalls him. He wipes anxiously at his mouth, sees blood on his hand, and then scrubs at it with a corner of tunic. "I won't be any trouble, and then I'll be on my way."

"Gods," Sean mutters staring at the young man who stumbles out of the darkness. He instantly looks around cautiously, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Although this road is considered to be a fairly safe one, he's still wary enough to wonder if the boy is bait or a distraction.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Orlando de Fiori. I am not from here. I've traveled a great distance, please..." He sits heavily in the dry grass, spreading his hands. He knows suspicion when he sees it; his own eyes would mirror it if he had the strength. "I have no weapons. I am alone. No one follows me."

Still suspicious, Sean is nevertheless moved to pity the boy's condition if nothing else. "Were you set on by bandits?" he asks, taking up his cloak and offering it to Orlando. The night's not all that cold, but the boy's all but naked and the cloak is available.

Once he gets close enough to look at Orlando's face, he notices the blood. "Here now, were you hurt?" he asks, moving to pull his wineskin out of his pack.

"No," Orlando says quickly, and then amends, "Not me -- they killed my horse." The lies have come so quickly for so long now that he barely registers the words, and then -- _Oh, hells,_ he realizes, and he pushes away quickly, scrambling back toward the trees before his stomach empties itself.

Sean gives Orlando his privacy and then offers the wine skin again as the boy stumbles back to the fire. "Sit down and take a slow drink," he says firmly. _Damnit, when will you remember that it's not actually your job to succor the helpless any more?_

Orlando steadies himself, then takes the wineskin gratefully. "Thank you," he breathes, pouring some into his hand first, drinking, and spitting before taking a sip properly. The wine's just bitter enough, and he can feel its burn into his stomach, very soothing. "Gods," he whispers, and rests his forearms on his knees, huddling over a bit. He's not cold, and he's not hungry, but he is so tired. So very tired.

Sean doesn't believe for a moment that the only thing that happened to Orlando was his horse getting killed, but he sees no need to push. "Are you hungry?" he asks. "I don't have much, but I can spare some bread and a bit of cheese."

"I couldn't eat," Orlando says, "but I thank you. I only need to rest a while." He turns to look at Sean instead of staring into the fire, offering a watery smile.

"And then what?" Sean says, sitting back down and looking at Orlando.

Hesitating, Orlando realizes he owes this stranger that much, at least. "And then I move on." _Before the time comes again and the questions start._

"Like that," Sean says flatly, trying to tell himself not to get involved. It would be easier if Orlando didn't look so young. _He looks strong enough; he's got some muscle for all that lean build. But he's not got any clothes or even boots._

"Like that," Orlando agrees quietly. "It's better that way," he adds, though he has no idea what might follow that, or what questions this man might ask.

"Ah well then," Sean says, shrugging. If the boy doesn't want his help, then Sean doesn't need to feel guilty about not being able to do more.

Orlando nods easily; he's grown used to this, to the wandering, and he doesn't mind it. He only minds the reason why, but at least he can double back a bit and find the things he buried for safekeeping.

"What's your purpose, then?" Orlando asks, just to keep the talk up. "It is unusual to find a fire burning in this part of the woods; I had expected to walk till morning."

"I'm on my way to Lutano," Sean says gesturing toward the west. "Hoping to pick up a hire with a caravan going over the passes." Before Orlando can say anything, Sean adds. "And yes, I know it's late in the year for it but I'm good in the cold and there are a few merchants who will risk it."

"Oh," Orlando murmurs, and he begins to reconsider his way again. "You're going over the passes too, then?" He tips his face back toward the fire, wondering if he should follow along after a man -- a caravan -- he'd be placing in direct danger.

"You looking for a hire?" Sean says, unable to keep from sounding skeptical.

"I'd make my way," Orlando says a bit defensively. "I've always managed." And he has; it's depended on timing and how far into the mountains he can make his way before time turns against him, but he's done it before.

"All right," Sean says, recognizing that defensive tone all too well. "Well you're welcome to my fire. And my company into the town if you like."

Surprised, Orlando nods. "You're very kind." He isn't certain how wise this is, but it's a good offer nevertheless.

"My extra pair of breeches might fit you," Sean says. "Have you nothing of your own?"

Again, Orlando runs out of things to say; how much is safe to tell this stranger? "I..." Sighing, he points toward the road. "My things are hidden. This is not a safe time for travelers, and before I was...robbed, I buried my extra clothing and money."

Everything Orlando is saying is setting off warning signs in Sean's head but he just nods. "All right then." He sinks into silence, staring at the dark woods just beyond his small fire. The boy's story has him curious and he tries to fight the feeling, knowing better than to get involved.

"I am grateful," Orlando says quietly. "I do not mean to be a bother." More suspicion -- that's something Orlando could never miss -- but he does need rest. He wonders if he should simply disappear before sunrise. It might be better. This man is kind, and if they're traveling the same road, it's best if Orlando travels ahead rather than catches up later.

"You look tired," Sean says, holding out the wineskin again. "Were you injured at all?"

"No," Orlando murmurs, taking the skin and drinking again. "I escaped unharmed. They only wanted my gold." The lies thicken, and this time, Orlando feels a twinge of remorse.

"Well that's good," Sean says, going silent as he studies his mysterious companion. Orlando, for all he looks tired and a little worn, is damn good looking and Sean feels a moment of interest before he gets himself under control.

"If I may borrow your cloak until the morning," Orlando ventures, "I must sleep. I will make my pallet away from yours, if you like." He glances up, catching the stranger's eyes on his, and swallows, realizing how long it's been since he touched another man.

"Very well then," Sean says. "I have a set of wardstones I can set up when you're ready to bed down. And it's a warm night, you can have my saddle blanket; my horse won't need it."

Orlando nods, considering that. It accounts for some suspicion; magic-wielders can afford the luxury of relaxation in times like these. But then something else occurs to him: "You've been very kind to me," he says after a moment, "and I do not know your name."

"Sean," he replies shortly. "Just Sean," he adds, feeling the familiar hitch in his gut as he remembers being stripped of his title and his own refusal to use his father's name after he dishonored it so thoroughly.

Hesitating, Orlando nods. "Well, then, Sean." He gives a small salute. "I thank you for your hospitality." Sean is beginning to have the look and feel of a man with secrets of his own, and it gives Orlando a small measure of relief for some reason. When he goes, he goes quietly without a second look back. He half-expects Sean to move camp in his absence. It wouldn't be the first time.

By the time Orlando returns with his things, Sean is ready to assume that the boy isn't coming back. But no, here he is, coming out of the forest looking a damn sight better than he did when Sean first saw him. "I'm glad you have your gear," he says, waiting until Orlando was near the fire before pulling out the bag of wardstones.

Setting the plain looking rocks in a rough circle around the camp, Sean murmurs the cantrip that activates them. Once the circle flares briefly with light to show that the stones are set, Sean settles back down near the fire. "It's not my magic," he explains to Orlando. "Just something I bought a while back."

"I know," Orlando smiles. "I apprenticed under a Wielder who made wardstones." His smile widens. "I wasn't allowed anywhere near them. They're very difficult. I'm not certain I'd know how to use them."

"These are for blockheaded fighters like myself," Sean says with a wry grin. He tucks away the information Orlando gave him; it's useful to know that the boy has the Gift, or at least was once thought to have the potential for it. "I just say the right words and they set themselves. Cost me a pretty penny, too."

Orlando tips his head, impressed. "I'd wager so. Ease of that sort is expensive." He's sorry to be feeling so tired, now. The conversation is easy, and Sean's company is good.

"I saved a wealthy man's life," Sean says. "Sometimes a mercenary gets lucky."

"Very lucky," Orlando agrees, nodding. He gazes into the waning fire a bit longer, then sighs. "I am for bed, I think," he says after a pause. "Thank you again." He stands, stretching, already feeling more rested than before, and takes up the horse blanket Sean offered.

"Sleep well," Sean replies, watching as Orlando settles down. He'll say the charm that will trigger his own personal wardstone once the boy's asleep. _Won't do to have him try to knife me in the middle of the night._

Orlando sleeps quickly and hard. He dreams in lightning-flashes of warm sunrises, cold winds from the north, a vision of the mountains from the sky. He dreams of a mythical wizard, the reason for his travels, the Grail to his quest, who tells him he has what the wanderer seeks -- then just as quickly, the dream turns bloody. The wizard disappears and his horse is before him, terrified. There is the rending of flesh, the scream of something inhuman, and it is the blood in the dream that wakes him with a jerk; he can smell the horse in the blanket he uses and that is what gives him such a start, the vision of froth on a horse's flanks and the smell of fear and sweat before the hot rush of blood strikes skin.

Blinking himself awake, Orlando sits up slowly, covering his face with his hands and scrubbing at it before looking around. The fire's nothing but embers now, and the woods are still. He's cold, and he feels lonely. The dream lingers. He looks over at Sean, sleeping soundly, and at once the idea of curling up against warm skin is too great a temptation for Orlando to resist. Tugging the cloak around him, he crawls through the grass to Sean's pallet, sliding a hand down Sean's arm in a hopeful gesture before he starts to shift close to Sean's body.

Before Orlando gets too close, the faint tingling of the wardstone around his neck wakes Sean. He remains still until Orlando is within reach and then he grabs the front of Orlando's tunic and pulls him close, his knife against Orlando's neck. "Thinking to knife me, boy?"

"No, please," Orlando breathes quickly, terrified for a bare second that words won't come. "I -- I only was cold." _Idiot_, he thinks, _of course a man of Sean's profession would be armed in his pallet, and he has no reason to trust you._ He tries to pull back, but Sean's hold on his tunic is solid.

A quick glance at Orlando reveals that he's unarmed and Sean lets go of the boy's clothing, glad his own face is in enough shadow that Orlando can't see his sheepish smile. "Sorry," he mutters. "Old instincts and all that."

"No -- it's -- I should have stayed in my own blanket. I didn't mean anything." Orlando feels like a fool now, and he glances away. "I'll let you sleep, I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Orlando won't be sleeping again, he's sure of that, but with his heart only just slowing, at least he won't be cold.

Something in the way the boy looks like a puppy Sean just kicked makes Sean feel utterly low. "C'mon," he says. "Bring the cloak back over here and you can share my bedroll." He knows he's being foolish, but it's been far too long since he's had any chance to be close to another person and Orlando is available and seemingly willing.

At that, Orlando almost scrambles back to his own pallet for the cloak. That Sean is going to allow him this close is almost too good to think on. Once he's there, though, he clutches the cloak to him, unsure how close to get, exactly, and unsure how much to offer.

Sean can usually tell if a person is offering body warmth or more, but for some reason he's not sure with Orlando. "Come in close, if you're that cold," he says. He'll leave it at that and see if Orlando pursues anything else.

Orlando hesitates, then presses close, holding in a sigh of utter contentment at the feel of real warmth next to him. He rests his head on Sean's shoulder, then lifts it again to look into Sean's eyes in the darkness, trying to read them. It's no good; it's either too dark, or Sean is too good at being inscrutable. "Are you lonely?" he asks at last.

"Yes," Sean replies, his tone of voice matter-of-fact. "It's not necessarily a bad thing to be lonely. Are you?"

"Yes," Orlando admits, and he goes quiet again. How can being lonely not be a bad thing? Frowning, he lowers his head again, determined to stop being such a fool.

"Do you want more?" Sean asks. "I'll offer you the comfort of my body, but only if you understand that this isn't a declaration of anything more than the fact that we're two people in the night."

Orlando snorts to hide the sting. And to think he considers himself rude! "Of course it isn't," he says. "We won't even know each other come tomorrow night." It's almost enough to make him go back to his own damned pallet, but he is here, after all, on the good graces of a man who could just as easily have killed him. _Now that might've been an interesting way to get out of my predicament._

"I'm sorry, boy," Sean says, hearing a certain tightness in Orlando's voice. "I don't have any airs and graces; I'm just a blunt and outspoken mercenary." _Well at least that's what I am now._

"Well that much, I gathered," Orlando sighs. He rolls away, leaving the cloak. "I think perhaps it's time I moved on myself." And he stands, brushing the grass from his knees and going to the horse blanket to shake it out and replace it on the horse. "Thank you for your kindness." He's done so much thanking Sean by now, surely that's enough.

"I'm sorry if I insulted you," Sean says quietly, sitting up but not making any move to stop Orlando. "I'll not lie to you and pretend to be that which I'm not." _Unless you count lies of omission,_ he thinks. But it's still meant to wound the boy just a little; after all, Orlando's been lying since he stumbled into Sean's camp. "If you'd like a safe place to sleep, you're still welcome to my fire."

"Thank you, no," Orlando says, knowing he's being stupid and stubborn and unable to stop himself. He takes up his small pouch and gives Sean a small bow. "I think I've had enough of honesty and safety for one night," he mutters as he turns away.

"Gods go with you, Orlando," Sean says, and he actually means it. Watching the boy walk away into the night; he's half tempted to get up and try to convince Orlando to stay. _No, I'm better off letting him go._

Orlando doesn't say _thank you_ again. He simply goes, half-wishing he could drop his pride and go back, or that Sean would come after him. _No. He's safer alone._

Wondering if it was all just a dream, Sean resets the wardstones and leans back into his bedroll staring up at the stars. "What was that all about?"

_-tbc-_

**Author's Note:**

> This is something Hilary and I knocked around a while back and then set aside and kind of forgot about for a while. Then, after finishing _Complicated_ we thought "hey what about those other boys?" These are those other boys. This is actually a finished story and I'll be posting new parts every other day or so. Hope you enjoy! Also while we are going to be doing some more of the [](http://community.livejournal.com/wtf27/profile)[**wtf27**](http://community.livejournal.com/wtf27/) prompts, I can't promise that we're going to do all of them.


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